Yesterday I dumped my medicine into my hands. Pills in hand I studied there weight. I did not feel depressed, thoughts of suicide did not cross my mind. I just wanted to know what they felt like. It was such a surreal urge I can’t forget it. I then looked online for the overdose information on each pill. Two out of the three pills would cause vomiting and a deep sleep, likely followed by death. I looked at this information without emotion. I simply don’t know what possessed me to do so.
I should know the weight of my medicine already because there was a time I felt them before. Years ago, I was young and hopeless. I saw no way out, and the pain overwhelmed me. I wasn’t as open with my depression as I am now, so I can’t help but wonder if the people who loved me know how far I had fallen. I took a small handful of my pills, added some Tylenol for good measure and washed them down with water. I tried to go to sleep but panic set in. I ran to my bathroom and forced myself to throw up.
It all seems so silly now. There was a good chance I did not take a lethal dose of anything. It was like I was just playing at the idea of suicide. We all hold our own lives in our hands. A life is heavy, I have no other way of saying so. Perhaps from time to time we just need to feel how heavy.